“You do?”

Mrs. O’Brien nodded.

Amelia balled her hands, then opened them, spreading her fingers like the points of a star. Again. Again. “What am I doing?” she whispered. She thought she was tilting.

Mrs. O’Brien grabbed her hands. “Your fingers are freezing!” she said. She pressed Amelia’s hands—first one, then the other—between hers, rubbing them gently. “Listen, it’s hard to believe, but I know how you feel.” She raised her eyebrows as if inviting Amelia to share her tightly held secret.

Was it possible? Did Mrs. O’Brien know what Amelia was feeling?

“Boys are funny creatures,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “And I wouldn’t wait around for anyone. You. You’re the one. People should be waiting for you.”

“Oh,” said Amelia.

“And you’ve got a lifetime ahead of you to worry about those kinds of things.”

Mrs. O’Brien’s misunderstanding became suddenly clear to Amelia, but she didn’t know quite what to do. “Oh,” Amelia said again. “Yeah. Well . . .”

“And, just so you know, he’s thinking about you.” Mrs. O’Brien nodded. “That’s right. Two times since you’ve been out here the phone rang. Both times, when I answered, whoever it was—him, I’m sure—hung up.”

“The phone rang?” Amelia’s voice jumped. And so did she, just a little.

“Yes, sweetie. Calm down.”

“Did he say anything?”

“No, but I knew it was him. I know the way you just know these things.”

Amelia was already moving toward the porch, staring ahead, unblinking. The grass, the bushes, the house—the world—suddenly seemed muted. And her understanding that Epiphany had been calling was vivid, oh-so-real. Mrs. O’Brien was half a step behind her.

“Maybe she’ll call again,” said Amelia. “He’ll. He’ll call again.”

The simplicity of what was happening, the reassurance, the affirmation, was pulling her inside—through the hallway to the telephone in the kitchen.

About five minutes later, the phone rang.

“Hello?” said Amelia, breathlessly.

“Oh, good, it’s you. Finally. Hi.”

Casey’s voice was like a black shape coming at her, wiping out her hope.

Amelia was silent.

“Aren’t you coming to the studio?” asked Casey.

Silence.

“Hey, Amelia, are you there?”

“Did you call before?” asked Amelia in a quavery voice.

“Yeah.”

“Twice?”

“I guess.”

“Why did you hang up?”

“I don’t know. I guess I was hoping you’d answer. So, are you coming?”

“I don’t know.”

And then she hung up.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” asked Mrs. O’Brien with outstretched arms.

Amelia nodded. “You’re always right,” she said, letting her disappointed self melt into Mrs. O’Brien.

“Not always.”

“Just about,” said Amelia.

19 • Heart

After lunch Amelia rushed off to the studio because she needed to get her hands back into some clay. She thought if she stayed home waiting for Epiphany any longer, she might explode. She also felt badly about the way she’d treated Casey. Without explaining anything, she wanted him to know that everything between them was fine.

“Are you mad at me?” asked Casey the second he saw her. He was sitting in his usual place. A heart-shaped slab of clay lay before him on the worktable. He was carving into it with a sharp tool.